Thursday, August 20, 2015

Katie showed up the moment I was
about to head out into the Greenwood. I had finished my lunch and finished packing up my writing
materials. Apple Blossom was no longer confined to the palace and I knew that
she would have me running around for most of the day, but still I knew that I
would find a convenient time to write. Writing in the Greenwood was the only way that I could get any
writing done anymore. Apple Blossom’s interest was part of the reason for that,
but the other part was the Greenwood itself. There was no better place for the imagination than a
place like the Greenwood, where elves lived and fairies played and
the waters rang like bells.

But then Katie came along. I swore under my breath when I saw her coming
up to the door. It’s gotten so that I genuinely cannot stand the woman anymore.
I answered the door before she could ring the bell. “What do you want, Katie?”
I asked in an admittedly snappish tone.

“What’s with the ice?” she asked as
she attempted to invite herself in. Her entitled self was just so shocked when I blocked her way. “I just
have a few questions about that stone,” she said. In one cupped hand, she held
the tag.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
I asked her.

“I’m on my lunch break,” she
answered. “I ate my lunch in the car on the way here, so I have time.”

“I won’t be able to answer
everything,” I said with a sigh. “But go ahead, shoot. I have somewhere to be.”

“Can I come in?” Katie asked, and I
moved aside to allow her to. She sat down on the arm of the sofa. “Make this quick,” I told her.

“Do you have one of these too?”
Katie asked. I responded by slipping my tag out of my pants pocket and handing
it to her. “Yours has a different marking,” she observed. “Do you know why that
is?”

“Mine is the symbol for the number
five,” I said. “Yours is the number six. It means that we’re the fifth and
sixth humans to come by that particular Greenwood.”

“What happened to numbers one
through four?” Katie asked.

“They weren’t able to get in,” I
said, “and you won’t be able to get in either. Only I was able to get in.”

“What, are you part of an exclusive
club?” Katie asked standoffishly, crossing her arms. “No,” I said, “I’m
personal friends with the princess. Do you remember her? She’s that little girl
you terrified.”

“Oh.” Katie guiltily looked down at
the floor. “Did I really terrify her?”

“You did,” I said. “I mean, she was
hiding.”

“Can I go back and tell her that I’m
sorry?” Katie asked without looking up.

“No, you can’t go back!” I said.
“That will terrify her even more! Not only that, but it will cause one heck of
a commotion among all the other elves! They really, really don’t like humans at the best of times, Katie! If you’re
really sorry, then I’ll tell her that for you. I really ought to get going
now.” I took my tag from her and slipped it into my pocket. “If you have
anymore questions, just text them to me and I’ll answer them when I can.”

“I guess I’ve got to get back to
work,” said Katie. “But Aidyn, I have to say that I’m sorry I didn’t….well, I
said that there weren’t any elves, and I acted like you were telling a kids’
story when you were telling me about all of this elf business. But now I’m starting
to realize that you were telling the truth the whole time. And if you were,
well…who knew, right?”

“Of course I was telling the truth,”
I said. Somehow, her little “who knew” irritated me.

“Well, I’m sorry I doubted you,”
Katie said, “and I’m sorry for being such a jerk about it.”

“I appreciate the apology,” I said,
and I have to admit that I was still rather cold about it. I wasn’t in the mood
to be friendly to her yet. I saw her to the door and to her car, and as I
waited for her car to completely disappear from view, I sat down on the curb to
write all of this down. I guess I had a lot more to say about it than I
thought, because she took off ages ago and I’m still sitting here. Oh well,
Apple Blossom will understand.

7:00 PM

Apple Blossom was waiting for me at
the bridge, entirely untroubled by the delay. “Good afternoon, friend,” I said
cordially, and I gave her a little hug, which she returned.

I raised a brow. “You don’t want her to come back, do you?” I asked
incredulously.

“I do!” she cried. “I do want her to
come back! She’s a friend of yours, isn’t she?”

“Well, not really. Not anymore,” I
said begrudgingly. I had enough of Katie, and now that I had finally gotten
away from her, I didn’t want to talk about her. Unfortunately, Apple Blossom
did not feel the same. “You aren’t friends anymore?” she asked. “Is it because
of what happened yesterday?”

“It absolutely is,” I assured her.
Then, to change the subject, I said, “I have more to read today. Do you
remember when you took a peek at that lacy book on your mother’s desk?”

“I remember,” she said. “But why are
you mad at your friend when you’re
the one who attacked her?”

“I didn’t attack her!” I insisted.
“I had to get her to go away! I couldn’t just let her in, could I?”

“I wouldn’t have minded that,” said
Apple Blossom. “I would have liked to meet a friend of yours.”

“But you were afraid of her!” I
said. “You hid from her, and then you cried!”

“I was only afraid of her until I
found out she was your friend, Aidyn!” Apple Blossom said with a hint of
exasperation. “And then I was afraid because you were fighting!”

Ow, did that ever hurt. Up until
then, I hadn’t acknowledged my own culpability in her terror, and even then I
wasn’t exactly ready to, so I just dodged the subject for the time being. “Your
parents would be absolutely livid,” I reminded her, “if I started bringing even
more humans in here.”

“She wouldn’t have to come past the
bridge,” said Apple Blossom. “I just would have liked to talk with her.”

I could hardly believe what I was
hearing. “I can’t guarantee that she would want to talk with you, Apple
Blossom,” I told her. “I mean, she didn’t even think you were real, even when
she was looking right at you. Besides, it’s way too much of a risk. Katie isn’t
concerned with protecting this place. She sees it—and you—as a point of
interest, nothing more. And once humans start finding points of interest, they
start wanting to find out more about them. And when they want that, they’ll do
anything it takes to get any information they can, with no regard for whether
or not it will cause trouble or even whether or not they have a right to it.”

“You didn’t do that,” said Apple
Blossom. “And I don’t think any friend of yours would do that either.”

“I don’t want to discuss this any
further, Apple Blossom,” I said firmly, and the matter finally dropped. The day
continued perfectly pleasantly, so long as we didn’t have to talk about Katie.
We did our reading on the banks of the mermaid pool, and after that we got to
go for a sail on Apple Blossom’s oak log raft. The mermaids were just as receptive
to the both of us as they had been on the day of our swim a while back. Just
how many new friends am I going to make in the Greenwood? I realize more than ever that each and
every one of them is superior to Katie in each and every way.

And yet, as Apple Blossom was
walking me back to the bridge at the end of the day, she lightly tugged at my
hand and asked, “Is it okay to talk about Katie now?”

“I’d rather we didn’t,” I said. “I
still don’t like her very much right now.”

“Well, do you think that the next
time you come here, you can bring Katie with you?” Apple Blossom looked up at
me with hopeful eyes. “She doesn’t have to follow us over the bridge, Aidyn. I
just really want to meet a friend of…I mean, somebody you know, just once.”

I heaved a sigh. “I’ll think about
it,” I told her. “But I am not going to promise you anything.”

Friday, August 7, 2015

The Jewel spoke in a voice that was not
heard by the ears, but by the mind. The effect was very much like the
recollection of a good dream or a pleasant memory. It was not a sound, but a
feeling that began deep in the recesses of the mind and pushed itself to the
surface in order to fill the thinker with the safety and comfort of a meeting
with good friends or the arms of a loving mother. The voice was not male or
female, and there was nothing about it that could be called human. Perhaps it was
what a dream would sound like if a dream could speak to you in its own voice.
“My dear friends,” it said, and the eight felt as if this being truly
considered them to be dear friends, “I extend my deepest gratitude to all of
you for answering my call, and while I am thankful, I expected and anticipated
that you would answer. My knights are chosen for loyalty and duty, amongst a
league of other fine qualities that I saw within all of you even before you
presented yourselves to me. The princess fretted over your lack of appearance,
but I was not concerned. I trusted you.”

“But how could you have known us?”
Rodin spoke up.

“There is so much that I know,
Rodin,” the Jewel said good-naturedly. “When Harkinian made his declaration, I
knew that the Knights of Rasta alone would not be enough. Though they are
unmatched in strength and dexterity, my land of Rasta needs everything that they have to offer
right now, and I cannot risk taking away from that for my own protection. I
must have my own army, made up of companions that I may trust with my life. To
find these companions, I utilized my own magic, searching the other realms for
the signs that would point me in the direction of my knights. And your images
came to me as an epiphany. I learned your names, your lands, and the nature of
who you are. The magic deep inside of me told me everything that I needed to
know, and I determined that it was correct, and that I had found my knights.

“Now you are here, and I need each
and every one of you to confirm that you are up for the task. Though it was
written in the cosmos, I am well aware that it cannot be forced. It will be
perilous, and upon your agreement, you will give your lives to Rasta and to me.
But you must make the decision for yourselves, and not for me.”

“I accept the position,” Ion said
without hesitation, removing his helmet and bowing his head. “I cannot return
to Lamorak, for there I have been dishonored. My name and my legacy as Mighty
Ion of Lamorak have been stripped away from me in the midst of my shameful
defeat. Here in Rasta, I shall create a new name, a new legacy. I accept my
place as your knight, oh Jewel, and if it is permissible I will take up arms at
the front lines.” His dramatic gesture earned a “tch” from Morgana, and Alicia
had to stifle a giggle, but Ion ignored both.

“Come to me, Sir Ion,” the Jewel
said, and Ion immediately obeyed. As he made his way to the dais where the
Jewel resided, his legs seemed to turn numb, and he stumbled in spite of
himself. The eight colors appeared to shift and blend, yet never once did they
manage to outshine one-another, and Ion had to close his eyes to block out the
disorientation that this caused. He felt as small and weak as a baby boy, and
he was sure that he had never felt this way before. He was ashamed and
humiliated by his defeat in the joust, but subconsciously he knew that a single
defeat at a ceremonial joust did not really change who he was. It did not
cancel out all of the years of victory, all of the opponents he had defeated,
all of the monsters he had slain that had earned him his title as well as the
respect and adoration of the kingdom. It had not rendered him as small and
helpless as standing on the dais beside the Jewel had. This was a being of
unbelievable strength and superiority that no knight, he knew, could ever
match.

But if the Jewel could sense his
feelings of insignificance, it did not let on. In the way that a mother gently
instructs her child, it said, “Hold out your hand, Sir Ion.” Ion knew that this
was a being to be obeyed without hesitation. He felt something appear in his
palm that was hard and smooth like a beach pebble, and he opened his eyes to
see what it was. There in the palm of his hand was a ruby, perfectly rounded
and cut into facets that expertly caught the light that filtered through the
chamber. It was the same shade of sunset crimson that appeared among the
Jewel’s eight hues. As Ion closed his fist around the gem, he felt a familiar
surge of energy course through his veins: the energy of battle. It was the
adrenaline that rose in him when he charged into the front lines, the thrill
that struck him when his sword struck the opponent’s, the power that he felt as
he brought down his enemies one by one. He was no longer the helpless child
that he had become beside the Jewel, but he was no longer Mighty Ion of Lamorak
either. The power that he received from that pebble-sized stone was shaping him
into something more than he had ever been.

The Jewel spoke again, and this time
Ion was able to look straight into its crimson hue without hurting his eyes.
“Sir Ion Halbreck,” it said, its otherwordly voice rising to an imposing boom,
“Rasta’s Knight of the Ruby, you may step down.”

Ion obeyed, and stepped down from
the dais to return to his seven companions. He held his head high, his body
tall, and he did not stumble even once.

Ion’s seven companions had beheld
the unusual knighting ceremony with the awe of a master mystic’s audience. With
his back to them, his emotions had been unreadable, and none of them could
imagine the expression on his face. They saw that he stumbled on his way up to
the dais, and that his body had tensed and he had gone completely still as he
received a message from the Jewel that was meant for him alone. Now, he was as
proud and tall as they had come to know him, and his fist was closed around
something that gave off a red glint. Though the others had leagues of questions
to ask, they knew that they would all be answered soon enough.

One by one, the Jewel commanded the
seven of them to the dais. One by one, they approached the Jewel and,
overwhelmed by the power it exerted, were stunned to silence. One by one, they
were burned to insignificance up against this being of incredible power,
strength, magic, kindness, intelligence, and ability. They felt the
disconcerting sensation of being torn away from everything that made them who
they were, reduced to the level of a newborn child with nothing to know and
everything to learn. Then they were given a smooth, round stone, each one a
color reflected in the Jewel’s eight hues, and the sense of who they were
returned to them with something more. As Sanjaia looked into the center of the
bright orange citrine, he was soothed by the pleasant chords of his many
melodies as they echoed through his mind. The chords were familiar, and he was
certain that they were his, but at the same time he was aware that they were
not the same songs that he had played at parties and at weddings and to
entertain his friends. These songs were charged with energy, and they weren’t
only meant to be played, but used.
Sanjaia stepped off of the dais with an understanding that he must determine
how to use them. Morgana, on the other hand, received power from her amethyst
that she knew very well how to use—it was the same kind of power, in fact, that
she had been seeking when she had crossed over into Rasta. She was a being of
magic, and now she had been awarded an entire menagerie of mixed magics that
would have earned her the respect and adoration of a queen back in Arganell. As
she stepped off of the dais, she grinned gleefully as her awareness of her
newfound power began to sink in.

Like Ion, the seven returned to
their places with their heads held high, standing tall and confident. They had
been blessed, and they were driven to giddiness by the feeling that it gave
them. Several sighed, others laughed with no reasoning behind it, and Rodin
kissed his shining blue stone over and over again like it was his newest and
dearest friend. But when the Jewel spoke again, they all immediately silenced
to heed its words. “Now, my knights,” the Jewel said, “you have been sworn in,
and you have each received an ability stone. These stones will enhance your
pre-existing abilities and strengths, which I was able to pick up on through a
very careful assessment of each one of you. You must hold tight to your stones,
for there will be many, many times when you will need to make use of them. Now
you must meet with the princess in the atrium. She will set your stones into
chains of white gold, so that you may always hold them close to you. Tomorrow
morning, she will take you to the palace of Rasta, where you will be welcomed and
celebrated.”

Rodin took hold of the white gold
chain to look once more upon the little sapphire that he loved so much. All of
his life, he had longed for such blessings as had been granted him through that
little sapphire. As he and his company were escorted from the isolated Palace
of the Jewel into Rasta’s capital city, he looked around him and he saw the
little signs that he knew had been there all along: the faintest glimmer of
dust in the dewdrops that clung to the grass, the glimpse of fluttering wings
that disappeared as quickly as they were sighted, the shimmering rainbows that
appeared in puddles left behind by recent rains. He stopped to peer into a
patch of vetches on the side of the road, and was delighted to spot the tiny
winged forms curled up in their stamens. He looked to the sky, which was alive
with hidden creatures that he always knew existed, but was never able to see no
matter how hard he looked. Now, not only could he see them, but he could feel a
real sense of kinship with them. Back in Shalorre, there were plenty of people
who claimed kinship with the fairies. Rodin himself had made plenty of attempts
to determine if he had any fairy blood, no matter how small the drop. He had
never been able to find out, but it didn’t matter now. He had been granted a
connection to the fairy realms that ran deeper than blood ever could. The
thought of communicating with them, befriending them, and entering their worlds
for the very first time filled him with joy that sent him bouncing on his heels
as he kept up with his comrades.

The moment that Rodin had stepped
down from the Jewel’s dais with his sapphire in hand, he was aware that his
life was going to change. When Cordelia had smiled at him and said, “Hail to
Rasta’s Knight of the Sapphire!” as she slipped the chain around his neck, he
knew that the change would be a pleasant one. Now, he was on his way to be received
in a real palace, dressed in the finest clothes he had ever laid eyes on, let
alone worn. He had chosen a two-piece velvet suit the same blue color as the
sapphire. He was bathed in rosy oils and his hair was combed and tied back in a
gold grosgrain ribbon. I could pass for a
nobleman, Rodin thought, or even a
prince. What would the guys think if they saw me? He entertained himself
with a fantasy of meeting up with his friends from Shalorre at the gates of
Rasta’s capital. They marveled at his companions, who all appeared to be
visiting royals from faraway lands. Then they saw Rodin among this fine crowd,
and they did not recognize him at first, until he cast a familiar glance in
their direction and their jaws dropped wide open. They could only gawk as he
passed by.

The white stone path they had been
following ended at an extravagantly-painted metal sign. “WELCOME TO RASTA CITY”
dazzled in golden lettering decorated with bright roses and stars. The city was
overwhelming after the secluded woodlands and quiet dirt roads that had
surrounded the Palace of the Jewel. Multi-leveled white buildings reached the
sky, illuminated with colored lights at every level. Clanking metal carriages
passed by at speeds too quick for the horse-drawn carriages that Ion and Alicia
knew, but too slow for the cars that Troy and Rodin were familiar with. Black
steel stairways and ramps extended the city into the space above their heads,
with skyways for maneuvering around the upper levels. The city was unbelievably
clean for a city so populated, and the knights soon found out that this was on
account of several rattling mechanical workers that made their way up and down
the roads and stairways with an array of intricate automated tools. There was
far too much for two eyes to take in.

As they passed by, the citizens
turned to look at them. Several merely gawked, others whispered or murmured or
muttered to themselves, and some shouted to them in greeting—“The Knights of
the Jewel!” “Hail to the Knights!” “Ah, you’re finally here!” “Is it really
them?” It was clear enough that the knights had been expected, but the
reception was going to be mixed. There was no time to make small talk, but the
knights were sure to acknowledge their greeters with a glance, a nod, or a greeting
in return. Finally, they arrived at a well lit station where several large,
multi-leveled vehicles were docked in neat rows—larger and more spacious
versions of the metal carriages that had made their way in and out of the
streets. Lovisa noted their similarities to the streetcars that occasionally
made their way in and out of the village whenever someone had a need to use one
to go into the city. To Rodin and Troy, they were reminiscent of big city
shuttle buses. And Eluani was reminded of the scholars’ trolleys, which made
their way up and down the roads transporting students to and from the local
priories.

Cordelia approached the station
master, who nodded with proper cordiality. “Good morning to you, Princess.” He
looked past her then, and his eyes were fixed on the eight knights, who
regarded him with everything from pleasant grins to uncomfortable shifts of the
feet. “Are these…” he began, but he found himself unable to complete the
sentence.

“Yes,” said Cordelia, “these are the
Jewel’s chosen knights, and I will be taking them into the palace this morning.
I will need…”

“Carriage 1-A, of course,” the station
master finished with familiarity. Ion was appalled by the audacity of a man who
spoke over his princess, and astonished by the fact that this sort of behavior
appeared to be the norm. “I will have it ready for you in just a few moments,”
the station master continued. “And welcome, Knights, to Rasta! I hope you’ll
find your experiences in our lovely land to be enjoyable. The people of Rasta
will always be at the service of the sworn protectors of its Jewel.” He nodded
then, just as he had for the princess, and took off to the back of the station.
The princess led them to a seat under a glass pavilion to the right of the
station entrance.

“So we’re going to be treated like
royalty,” said Morgana. “I could easily get used to that.” Her disdain for
royalty would not extend to herself if she were to come into it.

“You will be respected as long as you are
respectable,” Cordelia told her. “If you carry yourselves in the way that
knights ought to, and you show Rasta that the Jewel has chosen wisely, then you
will be properly rewarded.”

“Back in Lamorak,” Ion said, “I managed
to carry myself in the way of a knight every day. To do the same for Rasta will
require no effort.” He neglected to mention that he was often criticized for
his impulsive actions, unorthodox maneuvers, and his insatiable lust for the
fight. They did not seem worth mentioning; he was Mighty Ion either way, and he
had many more admirers than he had critics. Now that he would be making a new
start in Rasta, he hoped that he would manage to acquire only admirers.

Lovisa could only imagine what sort of
carriage required so much preparation to be fit for them to ride. When the
station master finally returned with two silk-clad valets beside him, and
instructed the princess and knights to follow them to Carriage 1-A, she knew
already that it would be nothing like the little wooden carriages she was used
to riding in. Excitement gripped her as she and her companions were escorted
past more of the shining metal carriages that they had seen on the roads, along
with the multi-level vehicles and much smaller carriages that looked like
painted metal boxes. Signs hung up above the rows of vehicles identified them
with seemingly arbitrary letters and numbers: “400-B to 420-B, “C-30 to C-40.”
Carriage 1-A, as it turned out, was at the very back of the station, and Lovisa
was not the only one to let out a gasp when they reached it. The carriage’s
stark white color reminded her of the Arabian horses that she spent her autumn
days riding across the fields of Eridell. It was accented by painted images of
kings and queens up against backgrounds of dragons, castles, fairies, forests,
colorful fields, and more besides. “RASTA CITY MAIN STATION-CARRIAGE 1-A” was
painted in golden lettering near the roof, and in silver script below that,
“Carriage of Rasta’s Royal Family.” It was all too much for Lovisa, who approached
the station master shyly and asked, “Are you sure it’s all right for us to ride
in this?”

“This is the only one that’s fit for
you, Lady,” the station master said with a grin. Beside her, Lovisa could see
that Rodin was shedding a tear, and she was about ready to cry herself. She
reached for his hand and squeezed it, and he smiled at her as he wiped a tear
with his free hand. They boarded the carriage and were led by the valets to a
spacious, rose-colored suite. The sunny yellow plush carpeting was a relief to
their feet, which were still sore and tired from yesterday’s walk. Round
windows positioned behind the suede sofas provided a view of the road from
several different angles. “Here are your accommodations,” said one of the
valets with a grand gesture towards the room. “If you need anything, you may
send for one of us by pressing the blue button next to the door. The princess
has roomed here often enough, so I’m sure that she’ll be able to show you where
everything is. Am I right, Princess?”

“Of course,” said Cordelia, and she reached
into the pocket of her gown for three gold pieces to hand to each valet. Lovisa
wished that she had something to tip, and she made a mental note to find a
small gift to thank them for their service. The other knights were already
taking places on the sofas, stretching themselves out on the carpet, and
settling down on the large silken cushions that were tucked into corners.
Lovisa took a spot by a window and watched the colors of the electronically-lit
roads and buildings blur as they passed her by.

This
is not a palace, Morgana thought. I
have no idea what the hell this is. To Morgana, a palace was a lofty
complex with gilded towers that looked down on everybody just like the people
in them. Ugly statues of ugly figures looked out at you from ugly courtyards
behind ugly gates. Servants dressed in finer attire than servants should ever
be turned up their noses at you as if they themselves were royalty. And of
course, the king and queen sat their gilded bottoms in gilded thrones designed
specifically for making sure they were positioned several feet above the rest
of the world.

The palace of Rasta had no towers. It was a multi-level compound
that managed to hold all of its many inhabitants at a reasonable altitude. Its
gate was made of a glassy material that was too thick to be actual glass,
guarded by uniformed men who sat in booths set up at both sides. There was no
courtyard and there were no statues, only a single paved roadway that led
straight up to the palace and branched off when it reached the front entryway.
As their carriage made its way up this road, they were not approached by nosy
servants who wondered what business these eight outsiders had in the carriage
of the royal family. In fact, they were not approached by anyone at all.
Morgana sighed contentedly as the carriage made its way to the docking station,
approving of such a system that was so different from the presumptuous palaces
she had known back in Arganell.

They exited the carriage
(reluctantly in some cases) and were greeted by a young servant girl. She
squealed happily and embraced the princess, and the two carried on chattering as
if they were sisters. Then the girl laid eyes on the eight knights, and she
gasped. “Oh my goodness!” she said breathlessly. “Do my eyes deceive me, or are
these really our awaited Knights of the Jewel?”

That’s us,” was Morgana’s prideful
reply.

“Oh my goodness,” the girl cried
again. “How wonderful it is to finally be able to welcome you to the palace of Rasta! My name is Bryn, and I serve Princess
Cordelia. For the time being, it is my pleasure to serve you all too!”

“We don’t need much serving,” Lovisa
modestly assured her, and Morgana shot her a glare. If this girl wanted to
serve them, then by all means let her do it! “Come on, follow us,” Bryn said,
taking the princess’ hand. “The others are waiting for you!”

“Who are the others?” Morgana asked.

“Why, it’s everybody!” Bryn
answered. “It’s the king, the knights of Rasta, the priests from the chapel,
the noblemen and women, the advisors, the courtiers and the other servants,
the…

“We get it,” said Morgana, and her
ever-increasing ego swelled up like a balloon. Now she was in a palace, filled
to the brim with nobles and royals and others of high renown, each one set and
ready to kiss the ground she walked on. The new enchantments that the Jewel had
granted her through her amethyst were only a piece of the power that she had in
this new land. She would have the entire country eating out of her hands in no
time, and then the possibilities were limitless. And just wait until they saw
that she was a fairy!

Like most palaces, the palace of Rasta had a great hall; a spacious atrium
where visitors to the palace—usually of a noble nature—were met and entertained
by the royal family or the palace officials. Bryn led the princess and the
knights into this great hall and reached for a massive bell hanging from the
wall to call attention to the chattering crowd. “Announcing the arrival of our
beloved Princess Cordelia…and the Knights of the Jewel!” the girl bellowed in a
surprisingly loud, shrill voice for someone of her size. It was more effective
at silencing the crowd than the gongs of the bell.

And so the crowd of nobles,
courtiers, servants, knights, officials, priests, bards, clerics, mages, and
entertainers turned to behold those they had gathered here to wait for. Morgana
knew immediately that she was going to enjoy her time here as they all approached,
bowed, curtsied, and made dramatic and flowery comments on their beauty and
their grace. She reveled in the admiration from noblemen and women fascinated
with her midnight-colored hair and her completely smooth, completely clean
smoky grey skin. She twirled before a team of squealing girls who marveled at
the luminous aura that cloaked her. If anybody wanted to touch her gown, she
let them, and if they wanted to kiss her hand, she held it out for them, and
she flashed smile after smile at gawkers who paid her compliment after
compliment. She allowed herself to be led through the crowd, soaking up their
adoration the whole time, until she and the others were called out of the
receiving line by Cordelia. Morgana was not the only one disappointed by this
interruption; all eight of them felt as though they could have spent the rest
of their lives floating through that hall and basking in the pleasantries of
the crowd. Sanjaia had particularly enjoyed the company of the other bards, who
had enthusiastically played along with the chords he strummed out on his harp,
and Lovisa had been kissed and patted and called so many different variations
of so many lovely names that she felt as though she had ceased to be an
ordinary girl and had become a sort of human rose. Cordelia smiled prettily at
them and said, “Now you will meet my father, King Lawrence. Follow me, please.”

If
I can make that trumpery lot bow at my heels, Morgana thought, it shouldn’t be too difficult to enchant the
king in the same way. She followed after the princess with more eagerness than
she had displayed at all since her arrival in Rasta. Rodin took note of her
peppier steps, her head held proudly high, and the smile on her face that he
got to see for the very first time. When she was being agreeable, the fairy was
the picture of beauty.

Presently, a ripple of activity
passed through the crowd. The cheery cacophony was silenced down to hushed
tones, and they all began to move aside as if to let somebody pass. In stepped
the king, announced by a black-suited servant at his side—“King Lawrence the
Second, our gracious king of Rasta!” His long, auburn hair was an exact copy of
his daughter’s, as were the pleasant grey eyes that passed over his people with
an air of familiarity rather than loftiness. Upon his entrance, the silence of
the crowd was broken just as easily as it had begun, as they erupted into raucous
cheers and applause for their beloved king. The princess led the knights to him
and took her place by his side, and he rumpled her hair affectionately as if
she were a little girl.

“They are here, Father!” Cordelia
said excitably, turning to her eight guests with a smile that seemed to glow.
“These are the Jewel’s chosen knights, eight knights for the eight colors.
Their names are Ion, Alicia, Lovisa, Rodin, Morgana, Sanjaia, Eluani, and Troy.”

The king looked upon the eight of
them with a sort of thoughtful interest, and Morgana shot him a glare. The way
he looked at them reminded her of the way that a young boy might examine frogs
he had collected in a box, and she would not abide being looked at in such a
way, especially not by royalty. But his pensive expression gave way to one of
warmth and reception, and he said, “So you have arrived at last, and I can
already see that the Jewel has chosen well—not that I would ever doubt the
Jewel. Welcome! Everyone has gathered here in anticipation of your arrival. Now
that you are here, our hope and our gratitude know no bounds, and you will be
honored with a celebration like Rasta has never seen before! Such a celebration
is just what Rasta needs to inspire the spirit to face the impending conflict
with Aldine. You’ve brought so much more than the gifts that the Jewel has
identified in you…you’ve brought hope and inspiration to us all at a time when
we will need it the most!”

Oh,
wonderful, Morgana thought with a roll of her eyes, a king who puts on airs, talks far too much, and places grand expectations upon us the moment
we walk in the door.

About Me

I'm Star Nova, and I like to tell stories. This blog used to be more topical, but then just became a place where I could easily hold my stories. I have several short stories and two big works in progress, as well as some old crap and some pending revisions OF some old crap.
I write in order to share how I see the world, from my own perspective. If you're here, you're probably here from Tumblr or Twitter. I hope you like my stories. And if you don't, I hope you at least read them before you decide that. (: